


In Sickness and In Health

by DestielHayes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Healing Castiel, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielHayes/pseuds/DestielHayes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You have a fever of 103 degrees Fahrenheit, Dean, and you have been vomiting an average of 4 times every 3 hours,” Castiel stated.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and In Health

         Dean shuddered; the sudden cold flash forcing Dean to snatch the blankets off the floor next to the couch, where he had thrown them during his recent heat flash that had occurred only moments before. It seemed that no matter how many layers he added though, the shivers still raged through his weak, sore body.

 

         He had thought of calling someone for help, but there was no one to call. Sam had moved back in with Amelia, Benny was still in hiding, and Castiel- well, Castiel was a different story.

 

         “Hello, Dean,” the angel greeted in his standard tone, as if the mere act of Dean thinking about Castiel was enough to summon him. Picking up Dean’s blankets and tucking them around him tightly, he pressed the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead.

 

         “C-Cas, what are- what are you doing here?” Dean stammered between chattering teeth and shivers that rattled the deepest bones in his body, startled by how suddenly the angel had appeared.

 

         “You have a fever of 103 degrees Fahrenheit, Dean, and you have been vomiting an average of 4 times every 3 hours,” Castiel stated, as if that explanation was enough. Sliding his gaze to meet Dean’s eyes though, he must have noticed the confused expression that clouded the hunter’s features, because the angel smiled and chuckled quietly at him. “You are sick, Dean.”

 

         “Yes, thank you, Cas,” Dean snapped, his tone screaming _“_ _Duh_ _”_ _,_ but of course, the angel never picked up on the little things.

 

         “I’m confused as to why you are thanking me, Dean, but you are very welcome,” the angel replied cheerfully, looking extremely proud of his self.

 

         Dean exhaled forcefully; he loved the angel to death, but sometimes he wished that Castiel were a little better at noticing the little things –like sarcasm– “What I _meant_ was, why are you here?” the hunter inquired, praying that the angel would not say something along the lines of _“because you’_ _re sick”_.

 

         However, Dean was pleasantly surprised when the angel replied, “You are my friend, Dean, and I’m here to take care of you.” Dean snorted out a barely audible chuckle, and stared down at the blanket wrapped tightly around his torso, blocking the view to his lap and pressing his hands tightly into his sides.

 

         The hunter’s cheeks deepened to a crimson red, and he squirmed around restlessly, trying to free his hands from the blanket’s tight cocoon and make himself look busy, so that he could avoid looking at Castiel. He felt like a little girl with a crush, blushing over Castiel at the mere sight of the angel, and the simple action of the angel calling Dean his friend.

 

         “Stay put, I’ll get what we need,” the angel ordered quickly before he was gone again.

 

         “Where on Earth do you think I would go?” Dean yelled, even after the angel had disappeared.

 

         “Someplace you could consume copious amounts of alcohol in order to drink yourself into a state of comatose,” the angel replied, suddenly reappearing on the other side of the couch and scaring Dean shitless.

 

         “ ** _Dude,_** how many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t _do_ that!” Dean exclaimed, quickly trying to recompose himself.

 

         “My apologies,” Castiel stated, oblivious to Dean’s rolled eyes and mocking expression. “Now it says here that you are required to consume adequate amounts of water,” the angel continued, tracing his finger along the page of a book that could easily be larger than the engine in Dean’s Impala.

 

         Just as quickly as the angel had vanished before, the angel was gone once more, reappearing in a flutter of wings a half-second later. He stood next to the coffee table beside Dean, leaning over the hunter with a 24 pack of water bottles in his hand.

 

         Opening the package and remove a bottle, Castiel placed the leftover case on the coffee table and tapped Dean’s knees repetitively until the man moved.

 

         Dean groaned in mock annoyance as he shifted his body, rolling from his side to his back and resting his knees against the couch, allowing the angel to sit down next to him:  _right_ next to him. The angel’s back rested lightly against Dean’s knee, his body fitting perfectly into the bent angle of Dean’s legs. This time, when Dean felt his skin start to burn, he knew it wasn’t because of another heat flash.

 

         The angel cracked the seal on the water bottle and handed it to Dean, “This book requires you to consume this, Dean,” he instructed. Dean accepted the water with a smirk and took a gracious sip, shivering as the sudden shock of the cold water surprised him.

 

         Castiel shuffled along the couch, moving closer and closer to Dean. As he moved, he tucked the blanket tighter around the hunter and rubbed the man’s sides, and then his shoulders, in order to warm him up.

 

         Dean could feel Castiel’s hip pressing firmly against Dean’s rib cage, but the hunter didn’t mind. He found the angel’s presence comforting, which surprised the hunter; how could he feel so at peace right now, lying on a couch with a cold that could change from a heat flash to a cold flash in the time it took the hunter to sneeze?

 

         Dean quickly pushed the thought from his mind and continued to sip from the water bottle, enjoying the peace, instead of questioning it. Castiel reached out and ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, spiking the top straight up, only to straighten it back out the second he finished.

 

* * *

         

         This went on for a while; Dean would drink the water while Castiel played with the hunter’s hair, and once Dean finished the bottle, Castiel would hand him another one. By the third bottle though, Dean felt like he couldn’t drink another drop. “I think that’s good, Cas, I’d like to get better here, not explode,” he joked, handing the unopened bottle back to Castiel.

 

         “Oh, yes, of course, my apologies, Dean,” Castiel mumbled, quickly becoming flustered as he went to stand up and put the bottle back. Dean’s arm shot out though –almost as if it had a mind of its own– lacing his fingers around Castiel’s wrist and pulling him back.

 

         “It’s fine, Cas, seriously, now sit down, relax,” Dean instructed, missing the warmth of the angel’s body pressing against his own. The angel turned back to Dean, placing the bottle on the coffee table and stepping closer to the hunter.

 

         He ran his free hand through Dean’s hair again, although this time, he didn’t stop to fix Dean’s spiked hair as soon as he saw it stick up. He ran his long, slender fingers all the way through Dean’s hair, and didn’t stop until he reached the back of Dean’s neck, sending chills down the hunter’s spin; this time the chills weren’t from Dean’s fever though.

 

         The angel leaned in closer, hovering over Dean; their lips were inches apart from one another, and Dean could feel the angel’s cool breath on his hot, feverish lips, which he licked nervously.

 

          “Cas,” Dean warned quietly, reluctantly turning away from the angel. “I'll only make you sick,” he mumbled sadly.

 

         “I am an angel, Dean, I cannot get sick.” Castiel explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 

          Dean chuckled; how had he not thought of that? Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned his attention back to the angel, whose breathtakingly blue eyes were boring deep into the hunter’s own. Castiel smiled –silently criticizing Dean for ruining the moment– as the angel leaned down and kissed him anyways.

 

         The kiss was soft –gentle and sweet– yet still passionate enough to set off fireworks in Dean’s mind and chest; his heart felt like it had stopped beating, yet it was pounding like crazy at the exact same time. He was suddenly light-headed, and he felt his head sway and his vision blur.

 

         Then it was gone; the warmth of his lips quickly fading as the cool air reached them once again. The kiss had been brief –only lasting a few seconds at the maximum– but it had felt so much longer. To Dean, it had felt like the kiss had lasted for an eternity before the angel was pulling back and leaving him craving more.

 

          “Now, the book says that I am to cook and feed you chicken noodle soup,” Castiel beamed, as he ruffled Dean’s hair momentarily and pressed his lips to the hunter’s forehead for a few seconds, before straightening up. Dean groaned, _“This can’_ _t be good,”_ he though with a grin as he watched the angel walk into the kitchen, his trench coat billowing behind him. 


End file.
